


The Silent Courtship

by one_golden_sun



Series: The King's Ransom [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Forbidden Love, Frottage, Love Letters, M/M, Over the Top, Power Imbalance, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_golden_sun/pseuds/one_golden_sun
Summary: When John Laurens first came to the palace, he was barely eighteen. His father, to settle a bad debt, had sold him into servitude. Life at the palace as a servant, while dull, was gentle. He fetched water, cared for some of the animals, eventually became one of the King’s personal attendants. That in and of itself was exciting, but more thrilling was the proximity to the Prince, a handsome youth, tall with brown skin, black hair and eyes, lush lips, graceful hands. John spent many hours stealing looks at the beautiful Prince, always dressed in silks of blue, red or black.One day, the Prince caught him looking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a multi-fic verse which will have eventual LafLams. 
> 
> ENJOY!

When John Laurens first came to the palace, he was barely eighteen. His father, to settle a bad debt, had sold him into servitude. Life at the palace as a servant, while dull, was gentle. He fetched water, cared for some of the animals, eventually became one of the King’s personal attendants. That in and of itself was exciting, but more thrilling was the proximity to the Prince, a handsome youth, tall with brown skin, black hair and eyes, lush lips, graceful hands. John spent many hours stealing looks at the beautiful Prince, always dressed in silks of blue, red or black. 

One day, the Prince caught him looking.

A look, over the tea he was pouring. John remembered the feeling of the china in his hand, the heaviness in his stomach with the Prince’s eyes on him. John poured the tea, kept his eyes down. Still, the Prince stared, his eyes clinging to him like raindrops to window glass.

They looked for weeks. The electricity between their glances, sparks, flames, any number of hot, bright spots on what otherwise was a mundane life. The Prince’s eyes like soft caresses, over the planes of John’s face, the hills and valleys of his body. Under his gaze, John blushed. Not only was the Prince exceptionally handsome, but someday he would be King. It was unfitting for someone low like him to lust after the future King. 

One evening, John was standing next to the roaring fire, a tea towel draped over one arm, watching the King and the Prince dine, their dinner smelling decadent, making him sleepy. The Prince’s eyes found his as he sipped from his wine goblet, and he smiled when no one else was looking.

As dessert was served, the Prince lifted one finger, indicated that he wanted his tea poured. Silently, John stepped forward, lifted the pot. Delicate flash of his wrist, the Prince’s gaze running up his arm. As he leaned to pour the tea, fast sleight of hand and the Prince pressed a small paper scroll into his palm. Before the King looked back up, John tucked the paper into his sleeve. The Prince smiled, returned to his meal.

When John was alone, in the small cubby he called his room, he unrolled the scroll, read it in the candlelight.

_I do not know your name, but I have memorized your face. Your beauty puts the sun to shame. You move with a gracefulness dancers would happily lay down their lives for. Your beauty has enraptured me, fogged my sensibilities, bewitched my brain. I think about you all day and dream of you all night. I lay awake hoping beyond hope that someday I may know your touch. Please, if you harbor any sentiment such as this, I beg of you to reply._

Heart pounding, John was simply stunned. He read the note over and over, memorized each line, ran his fingertips over the ink, lost himself to the mental picture of the Prince at his writing desk, quill in hand, tip dipped in ink. His graceful, looping script. His hands made these words, these beautiful words that came from his mind, he wrote them thinking of John… The very thought made John swoon. He wanted to write back, but he didn’t know how to even begin, to put into words how the Prince made him feel. Not only was he terrified of overstepping, but he knew he didn’t have the vocabulary to properly convey the bursting sunshine in his heart every time the Prince looked his way. 

Picking up his pen, he found a clean sheet of parchment. Instead of writing, he did what he knew best.

He drew.

A small ink drawing, nothing fancy. It came easy to him, having committed to memory the Prince’s face for years. The Prince, sitting at his table, and John at his arm, pouring his tea. John added one line to the bottom of the drawing, straining to make his childlike print as neat as possible. “The best part of my day is when I see you,” he wrote. 

The next day, he slipped the Prince the note. He waited.

***  
For months, they traded letters along with looks. The Prince wrote him long, flowing letters, poetry, glimpses into his life and into his heart. John treasured each one, kept them in a box under his straw mattress. Read through them almost nightly, like saying a rosary. Prayers. He responded to each one, knew his ignorance shined when words evaded him. His education had stopped at a young age when his father pulled him out of school. Future servants didn’t need to know the classics. 

The Prince was not bothered by John’s lack of formal eloquence. He thoughtfully engaged with each of John’s sentiments, answered his questions, responded to his thoughts, praised the art John always included. Sometimes small things he liked to draw, flowers and butterflies and the animals he cared for. Portraits of the Prince, or himself, or them together. Once, he grew bold and drew them embracing, the Prince’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, their lips a hair’s breadth away from touching.

The reply he received to that drawing practically made his heart stop.

_My dear one, this work of art you have sent me, has seduced my imagination, captured my every waking thought. I ache to one day hold you such as this, to take you into my arms and feel the press of your warm body against mine. As if every part of me is crying out for you, I wish to know you, long to explore every part, as a sailor longs for the sea. If you would allow, I would hold you close, intoxicate myself on the heat and softness of your skin. Then, when you turned up your face to me, your beauty stealing my breath, I would not resist the pull of your lips. Would you allow this? Would you grant me the privilege of claiming your mouth with my own, so I might taste the sweetness there? I want to kiss you until you are dizzy, until you forget every decadent thing you have ever tasted, replace every memory with myself. Waiting for the day that this might be so, that I might hold you and kiss you until you tremble. This wait is delicious torture, one I would take on for an eternity, if it meant I got to spend one precious night wrapped up with you._

John had taken lovers before, a stable boy, a kitchen servant. Neither had made his blood hum hot like this, had sent his heart flying. And all they had done was write...about kissing...nothing more. Yet John blushed like a virgin, held the letter to his heart and closed his eyes. Itched for ink and paper to draw what the Prince had requested, to show them kissing. 

Back and forth like that for weeks, the Prince sending him increasingly erotic messages, John responding with an illustration, sometimes with a small note of his own. 

“My Prince, the nights are long as I imagine you here with me.” 

“You have made me weak, my Prince, your last letter had my heart beating like the wings of a bumblebee.” 

“I treasure your words more than anything in this life, sweet Prince.”

_My dearest, my little one. How much longer can I stand this? To see you everyday, inches from me at times, close enough to touch, yet decorum states I cannot have you like this. That I must keep my hands to myself, though you draw me to you like a moth to a flame. I would give all the gold in my palace to hear you speak my name. Every jewel in my future crown, would I cast aside to take your hand just once. And oh, to make love to you, for that I would give my kingdom--nay--the whole world, and more. Your sweet voice crying out in the dark, your bare body drenched in moonlight. I would love you until you break, only so I could kiss every piece back together…_

_Please, my love, my feelings for you, they have bloomed and flourished, and to continue like this, to have another day where I must live on fantasy instead of memory… I cannot take it. I beg you, please meet me. Half past midnight, the nook outside of the library. Your reply is not needed, I will wait for you._

Fear in John’s throat. He wanted nothing more than to meet the Prince, to take the lust that blossomed between them and hold it in his hands. However, if they were caught… Punishment, imprisonment, execution were all possibilities. And he would be to blame, the servant boy who seduced the Prince. Incubus, siren, harlot. He was frightened. 

John did not go that night.

This time, the note he passed the Prince, no drawing. “Your advances, they tempt and seduce me, this world you have imagined for us is one I long to frolick in, dear Prince. But I am fearful. If we were caught…”

_What can I say to calm this fear, my love? I would never allow any harm to befall you. Our love may be forbidden, but I can, and will, protect you. Do not fear, my darling. I will shelter you from any storm. What must I do to prove this? I will wait for you, until you are ready or until my heart stops… Same time, same place, each night. And I will continue to hope you may someday change your mind._

***

John made the Prince wait a fortnight. Before he took such a risky leap, he needed to be sure the Prince’s feelings were true. The Prince never grew angry with him, nor impatient. His letters still spoke of his devotion, his desires, his love. He ended nearly every note imploring John to meet with him. 

The night John decided to go, he spent time getting ready, careful as he could be. Bathed, washed himself deliberately. Silently thanked the palace for providing certain comforts, certain luxuries to their servants-- splashed himself in a bit rosewater. Took his hair down, curls tumbling over his shoulders. He wished he owned pretty clothes, that his plain muslin tunic and loose fitting pants were less shabby. But, he reminded himself, this was how the Prince saw him everyday, still found him worthy of his words. 

Before he could change his mind, he stole into the darkened castle corridors.


	2. Chapter 2

The Prince in the shadows, purple night. He sat on the floor, his cloak drawn around his shoulders for warmth, a book in hand, reading in the silver light of the moon. John thought he’d never seen him look more beautiful, soft and thoughtful. 

“Your highness,” John whispered. The Prince looked up from his book, shock giving way to a smile. He scrambled to his feet, clumsier than John had ever seen him. So endearing John had to grin.

“My darling,” the Prince said. Closed the space between them in just three steps. “You have come to me.”

A stretching moment of silence, and then they were upon each other. The Prince wrapped his strong arms around John, pulled him close. John was weak from being that close. The Prince was beautiful. Being this close was thrilling and deadly. His eyes fluttered.

“John,” the Prince whispered. “I must have you. Tell me, I will take any favor you grant upon me. You are lovelier than ever this close, and I am yearning. John, my love--”

 

“Will you kiss me?” John murmured. “Please, my Prince, I have waited...:”’

“My name,” said the Prince. “Call me by name.”

John said his name out loud, it tasted sweeter than wine on his tongue. 

Their first kiss was brighter than lightning, John feeling his lips yield as the Prince--Lafayette--took his mouth with his, open and soft, their tongues exploring. The kiss knocked him breathless, he had to cling to Lafayette’s cloak to remain upright. Lafayette sensed his weight shifting, snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him closer still, supported him as they kissed. Hours must have past, time was lost as he surrendered to the charms of Lafayette’s mouth, the solid anchor of his body. They kissed and Lafayette held him, his arms around him. They kissed until the light turned gray and morning approached. 

Lafayette pulled away as if it pained him to break the connection. “Tomorrow night?” he requested. “I can wait if I must, but to have sampled heaven and be forced to patient for the next taste, I might go mad.”

“Shhh,” John giggled. “You speak as prettily as you write your letters,” he teased. 

Lafayette nuzzled the crook of his neck, his breath a tantalizing caress. “You bring out the poetry in me.”

John promised he would return the next night. Same time, same place. 

***   
A year passed. A year of secret rendezvouses, meeting under the forgiving moonlight. A year of kisses, of holding one another. It took six months before Lafayette’s hands wandered anywhere. He had kept them solidly on his waist for months, occasionally his shoulders or taking one of John’s hands in his own.

“Your lovely artist’s hands,” he marvelled, kissing the palms, each of John’s fingers. Each touch of his lips sparking. Igniting. “Every word these hands write for me. Each tiny work of art you create. A miracle.” Lafayette’s eyes like two diamonds in the dim light, fixing on him hungrily as he brushed a kiss onto John’s wrist. 

Carnal pleasures were not their only pursuits. Lafayette sometimes brought him gifts-- a set of paints, a blank journal, a rose he said “was the exact color of your cheeks when you blush.” Often Lafayette read aloud to him, poetry and mythology and history...whatever he found interesting. John treasured these moments, every single one.

A half of that year later, and John grew bolder. Let his lips explore the graceful curve of Lafayette’s throat, his ear, his collarbones. They kissed standing, they kissed sitting side-by-side. Sometimes, Lafayette would pull John into his lap, and they would kiss while he cradled him close. Once, while they kissed, Lafayette’s body pressed to his from shoulder to knee, pinning him to the wall. John panted, and Laf kissed him senseless, moved his hips, their bodies finding friction through the layers of clothing. After months of build up, the connection felt incredible. Blinding pleasure, Lafayette’s broad body moving against his in a dance without music. John wound his fingers in Lafayette’s hair, held him as close as possible. As they kissed, Lafayette’s hips stuttered, and he groaned into John’s mouth.

John pulled away, looked at where their bodies met, saw the tell-tale spot of moisture on the front of Lafayette’s breeches. Laf smiled at him, but looked sheepish as well.

“My...utmost apologies, my darling,” he said. “It appears I have lost my composure.”

Unable to stop himself, John giggled. His own pants were tight, and knowing that his presence had the Prince undone made him feel powerful and alluring. 

“Feel me against you, my love?” John pushed against him, and Lafayette hummed. “I am barely keeping my own composure.”

“I find your self control admirable,” Lafayette said, kissed John on the cheek.

“And I find your lack of it seductive,” John returned. Adjusted himself. 

“Would you like me to return the favor?” Laf glanced down at him, hands still snug on his hips. “Name the act and I shall do it, my hand...my mouth…”

John gasped, but shook his head. “Not here,” he whispered. “I can’t...can’t bear to feel that pleasure and not be permitted to fall asleep in your arms.”

The look in Lafayette’s eyes softened, and he kissed the top of John’s head in comfort. “Of course my darling. Of course.”

“I fear I may be too loud, as well,” John admitted, blushing. “We need somewhere private, so I might...enjoy your gifts properly.”

“You little minx,” he said lovingly. “You tease me with such visions, of you falling apart by my hand? Oh my darling, if time and privacy were to be had, I would make you scream, I would make you cry from it. I would flood your senses with pleasure, love you until it was unbearable. Would only stop once you begged me to, and then hold you until you slept. I would cradle you through the night, kiss you awake in the morning.”

John’s eyes fluttered with each proclamation, his heart skipped a beat. “Will this ever be so, my dearest, Lafayette?” 

“When I become King,” Lafayette promised. “My first night as King...if you are ready…”

Putting his lips to Lafayette’s ear, John sighed. “Your first night as King, you shall conquer me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lafayette ascended the throne that winter, after the passing of his father. All of the domestic servants watched from the observation balconies in the throne room, John among them. He knew later that night there would be a ball, one he would not take part in. 

He would be readying himself for his King. 

Over a year they had waited, heated letters, hours of kissing, secret touches, and the night was finally upon them. An actual consummation of their love, a night all their own, where they would have the freedom to feast on each other. 

Lafayette asked him what he needed to feel ready. He was to be taken to his private bed chambers, ready himself and wait. He requested from Lafayette a proper bath and a pretty outfit, one he would like. John wanted Lafayette to see him in finery, unwrap him like a gift. And fine oil to make penetration easier. Lafayette insisted John feel no pain with him.

John bathed carefully, scrubbed every intimate spot. Dressed in the clothing Lafayette had sent to him, a choice of several outfits. He picked out silks in a rich blue color, flowing and sheer and fitted. He examined himself in the mirror in the dressing room. The blue made his skin glow golden, his freckles stand out. He had his hair braided into one intricate plait, imagined Lafayette unwinding it and twirling his fingers in the strands.

When he was led to Lafayette’s bed chambers, nothing could prepare him for the opulence. Gold and rich brocade. A massive four poster bed with a canopy, a writing desk, a dressing table. On the bedside table, a carafe of the oil they requested. John blushed, but his nervousness was stamped out by his excitement. Unsure where to wait, he stood at the foot of the bed.

Lafayette burst into the room smiling, just a few minutes later. In the candlelight of bedroom, this close and illuminated, everything felt sharper. Lafayette looked him over like a cat considering a mouse, but smiled warmly. “You look… You look so beautiful,” he said. “I feel I have been waiting for this moment all my life.”

John wrapped his arms around Lafayette’s neck, kissed his cheek. “Take me to bed, my King,” he purred, nipped at his jaw. 

After a few steadying breaths, Laf put a few inches between them. “Before...before we do this, we must speak frankly. I must let you know. I announced at the ball, all servants here that my father had...purchased...you have all been granted your freedom.” He looked pained. “I do not want you here with me if you feel coerced. Now, or after, or any time you are free to walk out of the palace, John.”

John was shocked, but pleased. His love for Lafayette was a separate thing than his servitude, but his freedom…

“I cannot leave you,” John admitted. “What if I want to be near you?”

Lafayette grinned, and pet his hair. “This can be arranged. It must stay secret, however. We can make a place for you to live, here in the palace.”

“I choose you,” John said softly. “I choose you tonight, I choose you for always.”

The smile that broke across Lafayette’s face could illuminate the whole palace. “Words...cannot fully express…my joy…”

“Where words fail, show me this joy,” John suggested. “I beg of you again, my King, take me to bed.”

Lafayette swept John into his arms, carried him the four steps to the bed, laid him down gently. Reunited their lips, refused to break away while he climbed into the bed to lay on top of John. The kissing was so familiar, it was like coming home after a long day. Only tonight, something lay underneath it: the anticipation, the longing. 

Undressing each other was an exquisite experience. Lafayette shed his own cloak, let John untie his sash. Tonight he was dressed in shades of red: garnet, scarlet, ruby, and currant. The velvet fell away to reveal his sumptuous undergarments, white silk, and John was shy to touch him, until Lafayette took his hand and placed it on his chest over his beating heart.

“Feel this, my love?” he asked. “What you have done to me? Are doing to me?” 

John, drunk on lust, moaned and kissed him, kissed his shoulders, took fistfuls of the silk and pulled Lafayette as close as possible. Lafayette’s hands, sliding up his own tunic, touching the bare skin of his sides and stomach. John went to pull the hem of his tunic up, to strip it off, but Lafayette stopped his hand. “Allow me,” he said. “I crave to worship every inch of you that I expose.”

Grateful he was resting on a soft feather mattress; the King’s words would never fail to make him swoon. True to his word, Lafayette took his time slipping off John’s clothing, running his hand or pressing a kiss to each portion of skin he uncovered. The muscles of his chest, the hollows of his sternum, the dip of his navel, the ridge of his abdominals, the line of his hips. John quivered under his attentions, the wash of his breath on his skin, the feather touches of his lips and fingers. The praise he bathed him with, told him he was beautiful and precious and perfect, the he cherished him, every part of him. 

John wore no undergarments, and soon he was nude. Lafayette sat up and looked down at him, drinking his fill of the gorgeous sight before him. John blushed under the scrutiny. 

“I do not mean to make you feel shy, my dear, but I must look. Must commit every detail to memory. For if you were to ever leave me, this night, this memory, I would live off of it for the rest of my days.”

John wrapped his arms around Lafayette’s shoulders, pulled him into a quick kiss. “Do not speak of this, my darling. I have already assured you, I am yours for the taking. To keep.”

Lafayette rested his chin on John’s shoulder, and their eyes met. He looked so boyish like this, without his crown or his cape. More like the boy John fell in love with under the moonlight. A young man, to be sure; a wild colt. 

“To keep? Forever?” Lafayette asked shyly. 

“Forever,” John affirmed, kissed Laf’s forehead. 

Smiling again, Lafayette gently tickled John’s sides. “Forever, I am afraid, would not be long enough,” and they were kissing again. Lafayette rolled his hips, let the firmness of his arousal make itself known under his silks, pushing up against where John had grown hard himself.

The heat they generated in the room had John tugging the white undershirt off of Lafayette. He fell in awe of his King’s beauty, the sumptuous expanse of deep brown skin, rippling muscles, broad and warm. “You are...intoxicating…” John breathed, placed his hands on Lafayette’s chest. “More spellbinding than any dream…”

“You flatter me,” Lafayette said, his large form caging John into the bed. 

“Of course, it is fitting, a good King to have the face of an angel, the body of a god…” John grinned to let Lafayette know he was teasing. Lafayette smirked back. 

“There is only one title precious to me,” Lafayette said. “Yours.”

John exhaled indulgently, basked in his lover’s sweet words. Kissing led to touching, caresses that gave way to gripping. Lafayette clasped one large hand around John’s thigh, prised his legs apart so he could fit himself in the space between. “May I touch you?” he asked, and when John nodded, his hand found John’s member, stroked him attentively. Smiled at John’s beautiful reaction, the complete surrender he melted into. The graceful arch of his back, which lifted his hips off the mattress. The thick, hot weight of him in Lafayette’s hand. The pink flush on his skin, strawberry, mixing with his freckles. How his lips parted in a perfect ‘O’ as he panted. Pliant. Warm.

“Laf,” he gasped. “Let off, just--” 

Lafayette’s brow furrowed, and he stilled his hand. “What ails you, my love. Must we stop?”

Blushing, John shook his head. “N-no. I was...close…”

“Ah.” A quick squeeze had John mewling, and Lafayette nuzzled the crook of his neck. “A little excited, I see.”

John fixed him with a gaze that was a blend of amusement and ardor. “My dearest, we have waited the same year, have we not? And, I had hoped to stave off my climax until we had joined? Perhaps finish together?”

“Such a romantic,” Lafayette mused, pecked him on the lips. “I appreciate your sense of connection.”

“Perhaps that,” John returned. “Or perhaps I want you to partake in the exceptional feeling of my body responding to yours?”

At this, Lafayette inhaled sharply, then broke into a smile. “An experience, I am sure.”

By now, John was growing impatient, had waited so long for this man that he loved fiercely. Desperate to feel that connection, to join in a fury of flesh and spirit. He reached for the oil, hoped the gesture would alert Lafayette to his intentions. In addition to being a kind leader and handsome youth, Lafayette was an intelligent man, and John’s desires was a subject he was well versed in. He held out his cupped hand, allowed John to drizzle a bit of the gold-colored liquid into his palm. With precise movements, he massage the oil around, coated his hand and fingers.

“You must make a path,” John whispered, spread his legs. “I’m ready, my love.”

Fingers found John’s entrance, very gently pressed. Stroked the puckered flesh there, savored the fluttering feeling, the sweet resistance. Over and over Lafayette ran his thumb over his hole, patient, waiting for his flesh to relax and give way, all the while kissing John, his lips, his neck, his shoulders. John sighed the moment his body relaxed enough to afford Lafayette’s finger passage, and he took the liberty to slide his finger in as gentle as possible. Pulled out of the kiss, eyes on John to read his every signal. Found nothing but pleasure there, pleasure and trust, and he twitched his hips to encourage, fluttered his lashes and sighed again. Lafayette loosened him with one finger, then a second, responding accordingly to John’s little sounds and movements of pleasure. He added a third finger, watching in fascination as John gave himself over to the sensations, gripped Lafayette’s hair and tossed his own head back, bit his lip.

“Am I hurting you, my darling?” Lafayette asked, concern in his voice. 

“No,” John breathed. Squirmed so Laf removed his hand, rolled onto his stomach. “Do you suppose you could hold me like this? This angle will be...easier? But I still want to be near you.”

“I will never let you go,” Lafayette vowed, fit his face in the curve of John’s neck and shoulder. If John were to turn his face, their lips would meet. John lifted his hips, went to meet Lafayette’s hand. He afforded him several more strokes of his fingers, had him mewling and panting as he discovered the sensitive places inside. “Please, my love, tell me when you are ready, you are so beautiful, so _perfect_ , I am doing my best to be patient but to have you beneath me, I fear I may lose my head--”

“Lafayette.” When John spoke, his voice was a breathy pant. “I have waited long enough, my King, _take me_ , I assure you I am ready.” 

At his permission, Lafayette took himself in hand, fit himself against John. The crest of his ass was perfect, a round swell, his flesh soft and the muscles firm. Lafayette took a breath, gave himself permission to let the enormity of the moment settle on his shoulders. Over a year they had waited, clandestine messages, secret meetings, stolen kisses. Now the object of his affection lay spread beneath him, in his arms, warmer and more beautiful than any dream. “I love you,” Lafayette announced, and though it not the first time those words fell from his lips, it felt so heavy, so perfect. John looked over his shoulder at him, his face lovely and trusting. 

“Say it once more?” John implored. “I will never tire of hearing you say this, and I want to hear it as you enter me.”

“I love you,” Lafayette repeated, pushed himself inside of John, his heart hitching and his balls tightening at the pretty noise John made. It reverberated through him. “I love everything about you, and I am never letting you leave me.” 

“Yes,” John exhaled, pushing back to meet his lover. “I love you as well. My darling, my love, my King, keep me.”

As they made love, their declarations grew more ardent, deeper. Lafayette dug into John’s body with fervor and precision, worked not only to savor his own pleasure but to deliver to John as well, to push on that secret spot deep inside that had John arching, his muscles clenching and the breathless cries escaping his lips. Lafayette found if he rocked his body just so, wrapped his arm around John’s waist so he could take his manhood in hand, John practically cried from it, shuddered hard enough that Lafayette could feel it. Wanted to chase the feeling up his own spine, elected to thrust into John and land kisses across his back, squeeze him in hand. Told him he was beautiful, he was perfect, he was _everything_ and he wanted nothing more than him, than this moment, to be anywhere but inside him. That to be a King meant nothing compared to being his. 

John sobbed through his orgasm, a full body thing that lit up his skin. He curled as close to Lafayette as possible, chanted his name like an incantation. No sight was more beautiful than John coming. He gave himself over to the pleasure, let himself go boneless in Lafayette’s arms, let himself tremble and cry out. His clenching muscles and pretty moans had Laf sailing over the edge himself, climaxing so hard he saw stars. Surrounded by the distinct perfume of John’s hair and the soft warmth of his lips. John’s face in front of him, his freckles and brown eyes. 

Being crowned King meant nothing compared to the pleasure, the security, the perfection of his John’s body. 

When they, slept, for the first time since meeting, dreams dulled in comparison to their waking hours.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, my name is Kacie. Please give me a comment or some kudos. Thank you.
> 
> Tumblr: @likearootlesstree


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